Fighters
by the-singular-peep
Summary: Certain hardships were expected in life. Failing grades, breakups, even death. But no one expects something so devastating it seems unreal. No one expect a sickness to spread and kill. No one expects to be left alone in the world with only your closest friends. No one expects the apocalypse. [ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU. ONESHOT. COMPLETE.]


He woke up to the sound of sobbing.

It had been three weeks since this whole mess had started. Three weeks since he had woken up to his mother's wet coughs and to the splatter of blood on his face. Three weeks since she had told him to run, three weeks since he had watched a gruesome, sick representation of what had once been his father sink it's yellowing, bloodstained teeth into her shoulder. Three weeks since he had witnessed her death. Three weeks, and still it was only he and his closest friends against the world.

Sitting up, Blaine took a headcount. Quinn, Brittany, and Santana were piled against the left wall of the small, depressing room that they had found in midst of panic. Rachel and Finn were near the middle of the room, Finn's back propped against a rickity shelf, with Rachel's head resting in his lap. Puck was outside, he remembered – volunteering for first watch during the night. Burt and Carole Hummel were near the back of the room, cuddled close in fear of losing one another in the night. Tina and Mike lie against the back wall, Tina's face still tearstained from the day. Blaine grimaced as he remembered the selfless sacrifice their wheelchair bound friend had made when the group was surrounded by those sick creatures. He would never forget the passionate kiss their devoted teacher had given to Emma Pillsbury as he refused to leave Artie alone. He would never forget the look of pure horror on the counselors face as she watched her lover be torn apart from the safety of a nearby roof. Blaine looked to her and saw that she had cried all she had to cry and was curled in on herself in a corner, lying on her semi-clean jacket to avoid the mess of the floor.

Kurt. Blaine glanced around quickly, trying to find his boyfriend. His eyes finally landed on a hunched figure in the front corner, its form shaking as sobs wracked its frail body.

Blaine's mind flitted back to the past day's events once more, recalling the sickness that had overtaken Kurt the night before.

 _The risky trek across unused backroads had been going on for hours, and, after an intense encounter with the horde and the self-sacrifice of two of their best friends, all had been quiet. No tears were left to be shed, but Blaine had noticed his frail partner lagging behind. The winter weather was brisk and chilly, and Kurt's cheeks were a bright red with sweat beading on his forehead. Even with the cold weather, it wasn't enough to need a heavy coat. Even so, however, he bundled in an uncharacteristic hoodie and had begun to cling to Blaine's hand like his life depended on it. He had steadily grown slower, and every time Blaine asked about his well-being he had ceased to communicate even more. After nearly three hours of endless walking, Blaine had asked Kurt loudly and forcefully if he was alright. Kurt insisted he was and made to continue on, pulling his hand away from Blaine's stubbornly, but was cut off short as his body betrayed him. He doubled over as his stomach lurched, the small amount that he had eaten recently being expelled onto the cold ground. He took a shuddering gasp of air then, and that breathe quickly turned into a sob as tears began working their way down his cheeks. The group stopped, turning to face him. Blaine hurried over to him, placing a hand on his trembling back and mindlessly running his fingers over the feverish skin. Finn hurried over, too, followed shortly by his mother and stepfather. Kurt continued insisting he was fine, and, slowly but surely, composed himself. Remaining nerves from the earlier trauma, he insisted, cracking a small, forced smile. The group had chosen to believe him, but Blaine didn't miss how he flinched when Burt affectionately clapped him on the shoulder._

The night after that had passed slowly, the group moving sluggishly on the lowly populated back roads. Burt and Carole stayed near Kurt, and Finn was only slightly ahead, but Blaine remained plastered to Kurt's side. Though he hadn't been sick again since earlier in the day, his pained expression continued to worsen and more than once Blaine expected his boyfriend to keel over from exhaustion. But he didn't, and the saddened group trekked on for a good three hours before they decided they needed to find a place to stay. It was nearly midnight then, and all of them looked drained and tired. After checking for roamers and barricading the doors, the group formerly known as the glee club settled down for much needed rest, which is where Blaine currently found himself.

The sobbing continued, quietly and steadily, and Blaine began slowly to make his way to where his boyfriend was crouched. His mind completely slipped past the new kinds of infected, the new strains that had begun to emerge from the plain, mindless monsters previously being the only ones of their kind. His mind slipped past the hunched, frail figures that huddled in dark corners, shying away from any form of light. His mind slipped past the way their weak cries suddenly turned to low wails then high shrieks as they turned and began thrashing. His mind slipped farther past how their sharp nails dug into the nearest flesh they could find, how just one headshot couldn't make their brain stop functioning. How it took many moments of agonizing shrieks and wailing and thrashing and _blood_ before the brain was damaged enough for it to cease movement. How they used to be real people and how it wasn't improbable for something similar to happen to someone else. To one of _his friends._

"Kurt?" He whispered, stopping a few feet away from the shaking figure. "Babe, please answer me. Are you alright?"

There was no answer.

He was sick, Blaine recalled. Kurt was sick. That was all. Kurt _hated_ being sick, of course he was distraught.

"Kurt." He tried again, force and fear entering his voice. The wails only grew louder. A few people had begun to stir behind him, but he didn't pay attention to the confused murmers of people trying to recall where they were after a much-needed sleep.

Only now did Blaine's eyes catch he dark and blood-filled wound on Kurt's shoulder. Only now did he realize why Kurt had been sick, only now did his mind race to remember the different strains of the undead. He couldn't believe it. He _wouldn't._

He moved closer, his heartbeat slamming in his ears, rapid and afraid. The sobs suddenly ceased, and low growls replaced the almost monotonous sound.

 _No. No, this isn't happening. Kurt is fine; he's just sick. I'm just panicking._

Blaine's hand slowly moved forward as tears sprung into his eyes.

 _This isn't real._

The thudding of his heartbeat made it difficult to hear the screams of protest as his hand got closer and closer to Kurt's back. He didn't hear Rachel's frantic wail telling him to stop, that it wasn't safe.

 _I have to know._

His fingers lightly touched the dirty fabric of the once-stylish cardigan and his breath caught in his throat.

The figure before him had stopped moving and growling, and relief flooded through Blaine's veins. It was okay, this was his Kurt. They were safe another day; one of those creatures would have already sprung on him.

"Kurt you scared me, I thought…" His voice trailed off as the crouched back straightened and turned to face him. "…Kurt?"

Yellow, unrecognizable and diseased eyes met his and studied him for a moment before a sharp screech pierced the stunned silence.

"Blaine!" Someone shouted from the distance, and Blaine could hear frantic shouts and sobs from the now-awake group, though he couldn't tell whose they were. He didn't care. Panic shot through him and he could hear his blood roaring behind his ears. A scream ruptured through the air, and it took Blaine a moment to recognize it as his own. He scrambled backwards, unshed tears now falling carelessly down his cheeks as pure fear filled his hazel eyes.

Kurt – _This couldn't really be Kurt_ – followed him on unsteady feet, inhumane shrieks coming from his throat. Within seconds, Blaine had found the wall, the shaky yet strong creature formerly known as his boyfriend mere yards away from him. He studied its face and noted all the changes; Kurt's once blue eyes were yellow and sick, his pale cheeks coated in blood that continued to drip in the form of tears down his face. His skin was gray and unhealthy, his hair disheveled. Blaine stood still, too stunned to move or even think.

And then Kurt was coming toward him. His teeth became bared as he growled and cornered Blaine. It all happened so quickly, and soon enough Blaine was pleading with the mindless being that was once his true love.

"Please, Kurt, no! You have to remember, it's _me!_ Please, Kurt, you can't—" With all hope lost, Blaine racked his brain, trying to think of anything he could do. The distorted figure was only inches from his face now, only moments away from striking and killing Blaine forever.

And then Blaine kissed him. Shrieks from Rachel and the others were drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears as he felt the other cease to struggle.

Only as he pulled away, Blaine realized how stupid that had been. But it's good that Blaine was stupid, because without that rash decision Kurt may have been gone, permanently this time.

Blaine stared into the blood and tear stained face only inches from his, and, under all the grime, picked out the old familiar scent of Kurt's shampoo. Recognition flooded into the figures eyes, and its mouth began to move slowly, struggling to remember how to make words. Its lips fumbled soundlessly, eventually landing on endlessly repeating one, silent word: _Blaine_. And just with that, he knew _._ No matter what this sickness had done to his body, this was _his Kurt_. Despite the grayness of his skin or the obvious infection in his shoulder, he shakily encased Blaine in a tight, scared hug, crying into his shoulder. Blaine returned the hug as tears flooded his own eyes.

"It's okay, it's okay, we'll fix this, it's okay…" He mumbled into Kurt's hair, petting his shaking form without caring the grime that would soon cover his hand from the action. The group had gone silent behind him other than a few stray sobs and sniffles, everyone too shocked and scared to say anything. Blaine began to think as he cried into his boyfriend's soft hair. This was real, and this was hard, but somehow, they would make it through this. They were fighters.

 **A/N:**

 **Yes, this has to do with Left 4 Dead if you didn't catch it.**

 **I'm thinking of elaborating on this and writing a whole different full-length fanfiction about a zombie au. Anyone up for it?**

 **Please review and tell me what you thought!**


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